


Long Time Coming

by greygerbil



Category: Original Work
Genre: First Time, M/M, Older Virgin, Pseudo-Medieval Europe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Prince Helladios is not quite sure why King Lope has chosen him, but happy to use the new allowances a betrothal affords him to get closer to the guarded man.
Relationships: Jaded Warrior King/The Charming Prince Who Is His Betrothed, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 12
Kudos: 216
Collections: Original Characters & Original Works Flash Exchange May 2020





	Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mintybears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintybears/gifts).



The dulled practice sword in Lope’s hand glistened in the sunlight as he whirled around and whacked Gabriel’s lance out of the way. Before his commander could close his guard again, Lope had already pushed in, teeth bared, and slammed his elbow into Gabriel’s chest, toppling him. As he stumbled to the ground, Lope gave him the last shove to put him on his back for good and held the blade to Gabriel’s throat.

“Dead,” he said flatly.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breath and Helladios, sitting in the shade of a colourful awning shielding him from the sweltering noon sun, watched sweat drip down Lope’s face and roll over his chest, which the simple white shirt he wore left exposed at the unlaced collar. Helladios had never seen someone who so exuded the energy of a man born and raised on the battlefield like Lope. His body was all sinewy muscle, with a myriad of scars crossing his brown skin. He wore his hair just an inch short against all fashion so it couldn’t be grabbed by an opponent or get caught between helmet and breastplate. His eyes, shining amber, were those of a hawk. Every movement he called to mind the lethal precision of a well-trained hunting dog.

“Enough for today. I surrender,” Gabriel said with a sigh, looking over at Helladios as he sat up. “Don’t you want to handle your husband, Prince Helladios?”

Helladios shook his head.

“He is not my husband yet, so I don’t take responsibility,” he answered with a thin smile. “You did well today. You move like a dancer around the battleground, Sir Gabriel.”

“Not well enough!” Gabriel said, laughing, visibly pleased nevertheless.

Four years into being the diplomatic envoy for his queen mother, who had sons enough to spare one to the court of King Lope, Helladios knew everyone worth knowing at Lope’s court. Gabriel was often out here to challenge Lope, and Helladios enjoyed watching as Lope sparred with his commanders and retainers to sharpen his own and their skill. Lope, a knight of outstanding talent, was often the victor, but like any mortal man he had eaten the dust of the sparring grounds before and did not seem to mind at all except that he would want to correct his mistakes. His men and women respected him for it and Helladios had learned to do so as well. When he had first arrived here, however, he had been shocked and intrigued that any royal would put themselves up for such potential dishonour, something that the rulers of his own home Kynokos, and even most nobles of Lope’s own Estavilla, would never have considered.

Lope was a singular man in many respects. Long before Helladios had met him for the first time, he had heard tales of the king of Estavilla. Ascended to the throne at only twelve years old, he had surprised both surrounding kingdoms and no doubt his own people by surviving years of courtly intrigue and open hostility. Before he’d been a man grown, he had beaten back a usurper, won the resulting civil war, and then concentrated his efforts on containing his expansionist neighbours to the west and the raider clans from the High Spears to the north. When Helladios was only a boy, Lope, thirteen summers older than him, had already been a legend.

He turned his gaze back to Lope, who blinked overhead at the merciless summer sun in the flickering blue sky and then turned to approach Helladios. When he fell down next to him on one of the fat pillows on the ground, Helladios handed him his flask of water, which he had kept buried in the shadows for him.

“A good showing, your Highness,” he said.

“Gabriel was right,” Lope said, after taking a large gulp and spilling water over his head. The cool liquid ran in rivulets down his prominent cheekbones and square jaw. “You might have joined in.”

“I still have bruises from last time,” Helladios answered, raising a brow.

“It’d be unkind to hold back. It teaches the wrong instincts. No one is going to hesitate when sharp blades are drawn in a real fight.”

“Are you sure you don’t just enjoy the chance to push me around?” Helladios asked.

Lope took another gulp of water and gave a grim grin.

“You do the same to me in the Spire.”

Helladios chuckled. The Spire was the highest tower of Lope’s castle, at the base of which stood Lope’s war table where he discussed strategy with his advisors. Helladios was a somewhat passable warrior, but from a young age on, he’d realised his real talents were debate and persuasion as well as the more formalised philosophical and political discussions that were a time-honoured tradition in his home. He had a deep, sonorous voice that begged attention from single listeners as well as crowds, and a great desire not to let it go to waste on silly words that had spurned him on to educate himself as best as possible. At first, he had been shy to use it to argue with Lope, but his temperament was not suited to silence, and through his own impertinence he had learned that Lope favoured those of his courtiers who tested him.

“I will not back down when my arguments are better.”

“You never back down either way,” Lope muttered.

He did not sound truly disgruntled. Helladios knew he was not. Lope had no issue to swiftly throw out anyone whom he felt to be wasting his time with baseless quarrelling, and as much as he would complain about Helladios pinning him down with barrages of arguments, he always listened.

“It is my speciality, just like this is yours,” Helladios pointed out, gesturing towards the training grounds. “You don’t immediately falter just because someone landed a blow. I would know. I watch you very closely.”

The suggestive tone was not lost on Lope, who rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to try so hard. I already asked for your hand,” he reminded him.

“I know. It means I don’t have to hold back from telling you how pleasing you look, standing over a man with your sword drawn, breathing hard and covered in sweat,” Helladios gave back.

Lope made a mocking noise, but averted his eyes for a moment, apparently unable to think of an answer. Helladios had noticed this pattern before, now that the betrothal gave him the right to flirt, and found it rather amusing to prod Lope into speechlessness. Usually brash, it was intimate matters that gave Lope pause. Helladios privately wondered how much attention he had given them throughout his life. No gossip gained traction more easily among courtiers and servants than that of secret lovers and yet no one seemed to be able to pin one on Lope. Helladios guessed that his trysts may have happened in some war camp or otherwise away from prying eyes at court, and had probably lasted just long enough to satisfy any base appetites. It fit all he knew about the stern, hard man.

“Your blandishments have gotten more brazen,” Lope said, putting his flask aside.

“As befits your future husband,” Helladios answered easily.

-

“I will send a troop to follow de Ortega, make sure he goes straight back to Avarize.”

“Why?”

Helladios followed Lope down a narrow hallway. His betrothed had always preferred the small, labyrinthine servant passages through the castle to the large hallways. They usually arrived at their destination faster, but were dark and cramped, and Helladios found them somewhat unsettling.

“I have the men to spare. Better safe than sorry. The father is no issue, but the younger Juan de Ortega is an ambitious man. I don’t want him to cause trouble for Ysabel de Sion. I might have rejected his petition, but he still feels entitled to her lands. I don’t need the two of them arming themselves.”

“Do not send a troop. A scout, if you must.”

Helladios thought Lord Juan de Ortega more of an insignificant troublemaker than a serious threat to the safety of the realm, in any case, but he knew Lope never took a chance if he could help it. Helladios had needed four years at his court to gain something like a semblance of trust. He was not sad about it, in the end, as it had given him time to grow into a man he felt Lope would respect, and for his own youthful infatuation to turn into more abiding affection. His mother was still vexed that Lope had not wanted him, or one of her other children, as his spouse from the start, but Helladios knew it was no insult to his family. Lope treated everybody with equal suspicion.

“One person sees less than several.”

“And one person is harder to see than several,” Helladios gave back. “Have Juan de Ortega followed if you want, but do it discreetly. We don’t need him to hear about it. There is enough trouble brewing outside of your borders. You’re right not to risk riling up your own nobles, but having him spied on could do it just as well as letting him stomp over the lands of the de Sions. You know too many lords and ladies think a slight against one of them is a slight against them all.”

“Fine,” Lope muttered.

It was his way of saying Helladios was right. They walked in silence for a while.

“Is that all?” Lope asked.

“Why not?”

“I figured you’d have something to say about my paranoia, as usual.”

“Juan de Ortega is not worth such in-depth discussion,” Helladios answered. “But since _you_ called yourself paranoid now, I will gladly take the chance to agree.”

Lope raised his brows at him.

“It pays to be.”

Lope had learned this lesson with sweat and blood, Helladios knew. When his people had first rallied around him in admiration and wonder, it was because as a child-king he had bravely faced the challenge of his first prospective usurper – his own uncle, who had been supposed to be his regent and help him until he could take the throne as a man grown. A good ten years later, it was a cousin who attacked him after having allied with the lands to the west, promising them a chunk of the kingdom if they won her the crown. She had been a trusted advisor before that who had grown up with Lope at court like a sister. Lope had also been betrothed and even wedded before when he’d just turned eighteen. His groom had been a minor lord’s son who had apparently wrapped Lope fully around his finger in a matter of a few short, fervid summer months. The full story of that unhappy marriage of just a few hours had been breathlessly told across many kingdoms back when it had happened and for years afterwards. It had become another testament to Lope’s skill as a knight that, even turning to undress for the wedding night, he had still heard the whisper of the dagger being pulled out of a sheath behind him, and managed to incapacitate his husband-turned-assassin with his bare hands.

“I could use your talents to distract people from de Ortega leaving like he did,” Lope said, after they had walked in silence for a moment.

Helladios smiled, feeling warmth expand in his chest. Lope asking for his help always reminded him that he had escaped the heavy shadow of his doubt.

“Gladly. Come, we can enter the hall through the main hallway. It will give me time to think of something to say.”

Helladios placed his hand on the small of Lope’s back to direct him towards a small door. Lope stiffened briefly, a look of confusion on his face, but finally acquiesced to the touch, following its direction.

-

The speech Helladios held at supper was harmless and uplifting, a tract on the holiday of the summer zenith that would come up in a few days’ time. The people of Estavilla tended to be pious and enjoyed talk of the gods and Helladios delivered his words with the fervour of a priest. Only when he had finished his exultation of the deities did he glance at Lope, seated next to him on the royal dais, who had watched him attentively without touching his food.

“It is a special day for me not only because the gods will step from their High Homes to watch us celebrate. In exactly a month’s time from the zenith, the king and I will be wedded,” he said, smiling at Lope. “I am honoured for the opportunity to serve you good people and guide you at his side, but I confess I am most excited to finally call myself his husband. Many have rightfully likened our king to Arcos and I shall do my best to be deserving by praying to Arcos’ spouse Sala, our lady of prosperity, and help him make the country flourish. King Lope and Estavilla deserve nothing less.”

Under the cheers of the people seated at the tables standing in rows along the hall, Helladios sat down next to Lope.

“Did you really just call me the god of war?” Lope muttered under his breath.

“Don’t pretend I’m the first, your Highness.”

“Then it makes you all foolish,” Lope said, though his grousing was not without a hint of amusement.

Under the table, which was covered with a white cloth and thus obscured their lower halves from the view of the hall, Helladios reached for Lope’s leg and placed his hand on his knee.

“I have seen you fight. It would be foolish to deny the resemblance, in fact. Besides, they do say Arcos was so beautiful in armour that Sala left her holy orchard for the first time to ride after him and watch him fight, which I find compelling evidence as well.”

Lope’s skin was a little too dark to see a blush creep up his neck, but Helladios had a feeling that the blood had rushed to his head, then, from the sullenly defiant look Lope gave him. It was his reaction to feeling flustered, Helladios had learned.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are the handsome one between us.”

Helladios had certainly been called so. He was a young man at twenty-four, with the advantage of the bright freshness of youth, tall and well-built, if not as muscular as Lope. He had a full head of dark curls and wore a thick beard down to his collar-bones by the fashion of Kynokos, which the people of Estavilla tended to find interesting for how different it looked, if nothing else. However, hearing it out of Lope’s mouth was much more gratifying than a random compliment from any courtier or visitor, even though he spoke it like a refutation.

“You think so?” Helladios just asked, smiling.

Lope frowned at him. “Obviously,” he muttered.

Helladios leaned in and kissed the jagged scars a war hound had left on Lope’s right cheek, leaning into the warmth of his body. Sometimes, words would not get through to Lope, but he now had some allowance to take other measures. Lope gave him a smack on the arm, but there was no force behind it. He looked more surprised than anything.

“People are watching.”

“Let them,” Helladios answered.

-

However, preparing the wedding festivities was soon only a distant concern. A mercenary band had crossed the borders at the foothills of the High Spears into Estavilla. Having been employed in a long war between the kingdoms of Bryden and Thoram up north beyond the mountains and now out of a job, they had turned bandits. The years of fighting had made them into formidable foes. They had smashed through the defences at the border and now marched onto the sprawling outer districts of the capital that crowded around the ancient city walls. These bandits would not manage to beat the whole army of Estavilla, of course, but they did not need to if they only looted the defenceless homesteads and then drew back into the High Spears right away.

Since the capital laid only a few dozen miles from the mountains, Lope had scrambled to assemble enough knights to face the mercenary band in the day they had had to prepare since the first messenger had told of their approach. Helladios rode with the flank under Gabriel’s command among a group of crossbowmen. He was not a knight of Estavilla and there had been no major wars in his time at court that would have needed his contribution, but he had seen battle before and would not sit still if the city he lived in was under siege. However, he was not vainglorious enough to follow Lope in the vanguard of the main forces, either.

As the main thrust of Estavilla’s defenders approached the mercenaries on a broad, dusty road among green meadows studded with bright blue flowers, Helladios stood on a steep hill by the roadside, trying to fit the violent scene about to unfold into its idyllic backdrop. Lope rode at the very front of the troops brandishing his sword, the sharp tip of a spearhead of knights.

Gabriel gave the order to charge just after Helladios lost sight of Lope, who was swallowed up by the seething mass of the mercenary band. His heart thundered in his chest as he pressed his heels into the flanks of his horse.

As he readied his crossbow, he cursed himself for never having worked up the courage to give Lope a proper kiss.

-

Helladios knew that they had won before he knew if Lope had survived. Anyone who had ridden far enough in the front to have kept an eye on the king was still way out of his reach as the chaos of battle died down. Out of breath and sweating in heavy plate armour, Helladios looked over the fallen bodies and horses that scattered the meadows, then to those still standing, searching painted shields and stitched liveries for the heraldry of those men and women who would have been most likely to have ridden with Lope.

Lope’s voice rose over the clamour of the army and defeated foes as Helladios waited at the side of the road for the knights to pass back towards the city, his horse dancing nervously back and forth.

“Take the wounded! All of them! Get them help, but make sure the mercenaries are restrained and have guards stand with the physicians!” he shouted at Julia and Hernandez, two of his commanders, who bowed in their saddle towards him.

Lope only emerged out of the press of knights into Helladios’ field of view, then. He had lost his horse somewhere and looked like a spirit from a gruesome children’s tale, covered head to toe in blood. Though he limped and there was red seeping between the pieces of his armour at the right shoulder joint, Helladios doubted most of it was his own, for he still stood tall.

Looking around, Helladios saw a horse without rider that stood close-by, chewing the high grass, a war steed used to the clash of armour and shouts of knights. He grabbed it by the reins and led it over to Lope’s side. Still barking orders at his commanders, Lope only noticed him when the shadow of Helladios’ horse fell over him.

“Your leg looks painful. You should not walk back into the city.”

Lope hesitated. He had pulled his helmet off. Under the half-dried blood, his face was twisted with pain.

“I don’t think I can get up,” he admitted. “Are you well?”

“Nothing but a few bruises.”

Helladios dismounted and, moving to Lope’s side, laced his fingers together.

“Step into my hands,” he said.

Lope raised his hand to Helladios’ shoulder and squeezed it once, then quickly dropped his gaze before he grabbed on to the horse’s neck and hiked his foot up to put it into Helladios’ hands. A breathless groan forced itself out of his throat as he put his wounded leg over the back of his horse, but he sat firm in the saddle.

“Thank you,” he said quietly and Helladios heard some real relief in his voice.

Helladios clambered up into his own saddle again.

“We should head back. Your commanders can handle cleaning up.”

Lope looked doubtful as he twisted his head to find them among the soldiers again. Helladios did not think he doubted their abilities, but he was always loathe to let the reins slip.

“Julia, Hernandez! We will head back to the castle. You have your orders, yes?” Helladios called.

It was presumptuous, he knew, and for a moment he expected Lope to snap at him, but he just squared his shoulders and then nodded at Julia and Hernandez, who looked to him for confirmation of Helladios’ words.

-

“What did the physicians say, your Highness?”

“Flesh wounds and swelling. I only twisted my knee, but my ankle is sprained. No broken bones, it seems.” Lope glanced up at him. “What is that look?”

For once, Helladios found it difficult to speak or even put on a smile, so whatever the expression was that Lope objected to, he kept it. Lope seemed a lot smaller sitting on the edge of his bed in a wide white shirt and linen trousers. While he had been a gruesome sight covered in blood, it had been the ferocious look of a victor. Now that he was leaning against pillows, distractedly licking at his split lip, adorned with several bandages and blooming bruises, Helladios was uncomfortably reminded how easily the many battles that Lope had fought might have ended his life if things had gone differently.

“When I held my speech a few days ago, you may have been right to say that it was foolish to compare you to a god – though I think maybe all your own successes have made it tempting to think you impervious,” he explained, finally.

Lope gave a rough chuckle, eyes half-closed.

“Does it surprise you I can at times be right, Helladios?”

Helladios gave a brief smile and sat down on the bed next to him.

“Sometimes I wonder why you did not choose a man who could be with you at the front and take a blow for you.”

Helladios could have put more weight on his training as a knight, but they both knew that he was not going to become a great warrior in this lifetime. He had never mourned this. However, sitting near-useless in the last rows while his soon-to-be husband smashed himself against yet another wall of shields and spears had been a harrowing experience.

Lope grunted.

“I don’t need a glory hound trying to throw his life away to impress me.”

“Then what do you need?”

Lope opened his eyes.

“Why do you ask?”

Helladios hesitated. He was a confident man and tried to project as much, but he had asked himself this question several times already, and it was loudest now.

“My mother thinks you asked to marry me because you finally came to see that our family is the most prestigious of all your options. I have known you too long to believe that. If the emperor of the Jade Empire himself came to ask for your hand on the basis of his wealth and might alone, I have no doubt you would send him straight back out of the door.”

Lope raised a brow, silent, in a way that indicated he agreed.

“So why me? What do I have that no one else did?” Helladios asked, finally. “You had other suitors.”

Lope scoffed. “Come on now, you never pretend to be timid and you have a gaggle of admirers at my court. You can’t be surprised you snared a man.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Helladios said, truthfully, “but you are not any man.”

After a moment, Lope sat up. “I suppose I chose you because you would ask instead of believing what your mother does only because it is the most pleasant and easiest solution. I admire that you are wise enough to stay back in a fight you can’t win. Not many do. I also like that you rile me up when I deserve it.” There was a touch of tenderness in his voice. “I thought you would make a good consort and that you would not resent the opportunity. After all, with your older siblings, there is not much you will get in the way of inheritance. Here, you would rule my kingdom with me – since we both know you won’t let me do what I want in peace.” He shook his head. “Then, when we were betrothed, you started flattering me. I am not naive enough to believe you have so many pleasant things to say about a bitter old man, but I do find it commendable you are trying to win over someone who has already promised you the prize.”

Between the words, in the way Lope would not meet his eyes, in his tone, Helladios read with sudden certainty that Lope had chosen him because he wanted him. He could well have made Helladios a council member if he only wanted his opinion and company, perhaps given him a bit of land, and that would already have been more than he could expect at home and likely would have kept him at court.

“A love marriage, again?” he asked, will all bravery he could muster.

Lope snorted, quiet for a moment before he said: “Apparently, I just don’t learn.”

“Good,” Helladios said as he pulled Lope into a kiss.

It was firm to start and turned hard, with nipping teeth and bodies pushing close. Helladios took him in his arms, careful not to push on the bandaged shoulder. The fear of the day bled out of him, crashing into Lope, who held him tight in his good arm.

Helladios pushed him down, sideways, lifting Lope’s right leg onto the bed so Lope he not have to move his sprained ankle without support, and using the opportunity to clamber between his legs. Lope’s tugged at his hair, his other hand on Helladios’ waist, hooking under his belt. However, there it staid, unmoving. As Helladios leaned back, he saw a conflicted look on Lope’s face.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Lope said, then glanced off to the side, seemed to reconsider. “Well. I should tell you. I will disappoint you, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have not done this before.”

Helladios stilled for a moment, frozen with surprise. Lope was thirty-seven, long too old for a virgin, and moreover, his forward attitude did not put you in mind of a man who balked at sharing the bed with a willing partner.

His silence left Lope’s expression growing darker.

“I warned you,” he just said.

“No, it’s not that. Is it for the gods? We can wait until after we are wedded.”

“Once upon a time it was. That’s why I waited when I was young. All it got me was an assassination attempt on my wedding night. Maybe I could have gotten it over with sooner if I hadn’t been so pious – or perhaps Guillamo always planned the timing for effect. In that case, he must have been glad that he never had to fuck me to get where he wanted to be.” A look of distaste crossed his face. “Now I’ve long thought the gods have more important things to care about than whether people share a bed or not. But...”

The sentence petered out.

“You didn’t want to risk a knife in your back,” Helladios guessed.

“I’d like to say that’s all, but I have never feared blades that much. In truth, I was just too proud for a repeat. There are _songs_ about that wedding night. They praise me as a warrior, but chide me as the fool I was all along, thinking a minor lord like Guillamo married me for love. Even had he not tried to kill me, they probably would have been right he wanted the crown more than me.” He frowned. “What good would it be to fuck a man who only pretends to want me? What legacy would I have had, leaving the throne empty and the country ripe for civil war because I could not keep my breeches up?”

And what would it do to a mind to think his expectation to be loved had been a youthful misstep? But Helladios decided not to put the finger in the wound. Instead, he smiled at him and leaned down to his ear.

“So what about me?” he asked quietly. “I will tell you that I love you, but you won’t believe me. Do you think I just want to be on your throne?”

“I do think you like arguing with me, too,” Lope rumbled.

Helladios chuckled.

“I do,” he said. “I could do it all day. Other people back down too easily.”

“You enjoy being at my court. You have friends here.”

“The people have been very welcoming. The king not so much, but he warmed up to me. It only took a few years.”

He could feel Lope smile as he pressed his cheek against his face. Helladios ran his hand up under his shirt.

“I believe you want to sleep with me for some reason of your own. Perhaps you had an image of me as an experienced man who would throw you down on the bed and take what he wanted. Some seem to think that of me.”

“Mostly, I just wanted in your bed any way I could get there. I had no idea what to expect. Your walls are high.” Helladios leaned up. “Never mind what people wish they could get from you. I now know what I want.”

“What?” Lope asked, a hand on Helladios’ face, rubbing his thumb across his jaw.

“I want to be the first, and I want to be the only one.”

Lope looked him in the eyes, searching for some flicker of a lie, and Helladios decided to forget all about his manners, to show him the lust and affection.

“So take it, then,” Lope muttered. “I’m too old now to pretend to be coy.”

There was that old obstinacy back. Helladios smiled and stood up to pull his clothes off one by one, the boots, belt, tunic, undershirt, breeches, stockings. Courtly garments had many layers and Lope watched each one fall. Helladios wondered if he was looking for a hidden blade, but his eyes stuck instead on the dark curls of hair on Helladios’ chest, the haphazard scatter of birthmarks on his left hip, the broad set of his shoulders, his cock, which stood already hard under the fire-golden gaze.

“Is this to your liking?”

“Not so far over there,” Lope said.

Helladios grinned as he sat back down between his legs and took hold of Lope’s shirt. Lope stripped it easily and then kicked off his breaches without shame. Having spent considerable amounts of time in war camps, Helladios figured that he probably was not new to being naked in front of others, either from time in the busy tents of physicians or just because the king would obviously have to take an escort to bathe in a river instead of wandering off on his own.

When Helladios’ hand tracked a scar up the inside of his thigh, Lope’s gaze grew careful again. Helladios let his hand rest just next to the junction of his legs, leaning up to kiss Lope on the mouth and then move to his throat. Scarred as Lope was, tough as he acted, Helladios had expected him to be resilient to gentle touches as much as he was to blows, but it needed only careful pressure from his lips and fingers to feel a responding shiver or squirm. Perhaps it was only his inexperience, but Helladios hoped fiercely that he would always be so affected by him as he grazed his teeth over his shoulder.

He moved down, eagerly grasping and caressing, kissing him. Lope’s hands explored his back and ran up into his hair, but when Helladios dipped his head down to his hip bone, he felt Lope’s fingers grip him hard, not pulling, almost as if he was just searching for an anchor. Helladios dragged his tongue down Lope’s cock, which was stout and grew even thicker as Helladios wrapped his lips around the head. He sucked it deep into his mouth and heard Lope stutter wordlessly.

“Everything alright?” Helladios asked smugly, not before lapping at him once more.

“Yes,” Lope muttered, almost sour, halfway impressed, like he might be if someone had swept his legs out under him with an unexpected kick.

Helladios leaned down again, but to his surprise Lope wrenched him up into another kiss, clumsy but pushy. Helladios moved his hips between Lope’s legs, lazily rutting between his thighs, his cock sliding against Lope’s and then pressing into the hard plane of his stomach. Lope’s breath caught in his throat, released in a groan.

“What do you want?” Helladios asked.

Lope pressed his lips into a stubborn line, but he reached down to grab Helladios’ cock. It was a wordless demand that nevertheless went through Helladios like the most eloquent words whispered in his ear. Thrusting against Lope’s callous palm, he reached between them, then looked around. For this first time, he wanted more than just spit to ease the way. His eyes fell on a glass flask left on the nightstand, filled with thick, greyish liquid. The physicians here used extract of dewblossoms to calm inflamed skin, but the flowers grew on every meadow and a little of the medicine would not be missed. He grabbed it and pulled the cork with his teeth.

“Are you trying to nurse me back to health now?” Lope asked doubtfully.

“I’m going to make sure you don’t walk out of this room bloodier than before,” Helladios said with a quirk to his lips.

Understanding dawned on Lope’s face.

“If I limp, I will blame it on my ankle,” he muttered.

Helladios laughed as he spilled the liquid over his fingers.

Lope’s words dried up again when Helladios turned his attention to his chest. The kisses were appreciated with quick breaths, but his nipples pebbled immediately when Helladios put his mouth on one and a dark sound built in the back of Lope’s throat. It seemed such a potent distraction that Helladios slipped a finger almost all the way into him before Lope’s instincts engaged, muscles flexing around him. Helladios imagined it to be his cock inside him instead and stifled a moan of his own against Lope’s chest.

He wasted no time cooing at him to relax, as he knew Lope would get to it in his own time, and instead kept his mouth on his nipple, his free hand massaging his thigh, digging into the soft skin on the inside of it as he urged his leg over his shoulder. As soon as he felt give around his finger inside Lope, he let a second one join, knowing the longer he drew it out the more likely Lope was to get embarrassed and impatient.

Lope’s spine bent, his muscles taut as bowstrings before they released as he hissed a hissed breath. He got very little time to breathe. Helladios searched for the raised spot on his soft wall and when he found and pressed it, Lope moaned, startled.

Helladios smiled to himself, his delight only slightly marred by his own cock hanging painfully hard between his legs.

“What was that?” Lope gasped.

“Remember that my country brought forth some of the finest physicians in history. We know much of anatomy,” Helladios joked. “No time for lectures now, though.”

He massaged the sensitive node with the pads of his fingers as he sucked at his throat and Lope reacted with a full-body shudder, fingers digging into Helladios’ arms, the heel of the leg hooked over his shoulder pressing into his back. Helladios decided to use his chance. After another press and matching bite, he pulled his hand back and then put his cock against Lope’s slick hole, pulling his balls out of the way and massaging them as he allowed himself a greedy look before he pushed his hips forward.

“Do you like my cock inside you?” he asked with a smile when he was fully seated.

Lope was clearly having trouble getting his bearings. However, he managed to nod his head.

Helladios lifted his other leg over his shoulder, too, careful not to disturb his ankle, and started to fuck him with short, quick thrusts that never quite left the warmth of his body. After he had enjoyed the tight press of him like this and Lope’s breath had evened out a little, he finally put his strength behind the next thrust, pulling all the way out before he slammed into him again. Lope groaned his name as he scrambled for purchase on Helladios’ arms.

Helladios drank in the sight of Lope’s damp, twitching body as he fucked him, the way the muscles in his stomached tightened and the tendons in his neck stood out whenever Helladios’ cock pressed deep inside him. When Helladios reached for his cock, Lope’s eyes looked clouded. His own shaking hand joined Helladios’, apparently just to grip at his fingers, hold them, before he came all over his own chest.

Helladios sat up to chase his own pleasure in Lope’s body, but more even than the sensation he enjoyed the image before him, Lope’s body sprawled out, as devoid of tension as he had never seen him before, covered in his own seed and sweat. With white light exploding behind his eyes, Helladios spilled himself, but not all the way in him, so that he could watch his own come dribble out of him as he pulled back.

He grabbed a stray blanket to clean Lope before he laid against him, allowing Lope’s legs to slide back down to the bed. Lope’s thick arm came to embrace Helladios while he gathered his breath.

“You do enjoy seeing me on the back foot,” Lope grumbled.

“You make it look good, your Highness.”

“Stop with the titles. I am to be your husband, am I not? You planted your flag convincingly enough.”

Helladios chuckled. “For now,” he said. “The night is young, Lope.”

Lope huffed. “I should have picked an older man. Less stamina,” he muttered, but there was a smile on his lips.

Perhaps it wouldn’t take as long to convince Lope that he loved him as it had to first gain his trust, Helladios thought, as he leaned up to kiss him. Either way, it would be time well spent.


End file.
